Risen From the Ashes
by PollySmiles
Summary: After the execution of President Snow, Panem finds itself at the mercy of President Coin and things only get worse. A new era of Hunger Games have begun with Phoenix, the daughter of Katniss and Peeta, caught in it all. a Hunger Games AU
1. The Reaping

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

Risen From the Ashes

"Phoenix Mellark!" a considerably aged Effie Trinket with platinum hair shouts in a more horrified than excited voice. She spins around to give an apologetic look to the mentors… my parents.

"NO!" they cry. My mother, Katniss, the District 12's famous girl on fire and mockingjay of the second rebellion, is caught in the arms of my father, Peeta, who struggles between wanting to comfort my mother and strangle Effie. I can see in their eyes they want someone to volunteer, anyone besides maybe my brother Cole, but he looks just as terrified as my parents and boys can't volunteer for girls anyway.

No, no one volunteers to take my place. I do not have the advantage my aunt Prim had in the 74th Hunger Games, the Games my parents were famous for. I have no older sister, nor am I necessarily a fragile twelve year old… I'm a fragile _seventeen_ year old and I am led, rather forcefully, to the stage by District 12's Peacekeepers under the "reformed" Capitol's President Coin. My parents want to rush toward me, I can see the pain in my mother's eyes, but Peacekeepers block their way. Meanwhile, I know all thirteen districts of Panem, plus the Capitol, is watching - maybe laughing at me, maybe terrified of me. I am, after all, the daughter of not one, but _two _victors.

Effie walks over to the other bowl and chooses the name of the boy tribute. I have a sudden fear of Cole's name being pulled out and our whole family completely falling apart, but it's not. "Charlton Thread," Effie announces and I breathe a sigh of relief. Not just for my brother and family, but because Char would be an easy kill if it came down to it. Not because he was tiny, far from it, but because he'd bullied me throughout school and I can't say he'd be a hard death to let go of.

Charlton is led onto the stage and my parents search for a reaction on my face but I give them and the cameras nothing to analyze. Effie, with all the pride she can muster, announces, "Let's give a warm round of applause for our brave tributes, Phoenix Mellark and Charlton Thread!"

True to tradition, very little applause was given by the small population of District 12. Our mayor and close family friend, Haymitch Abernathy, reads President Coin's revised Treaty of Treason with little enthusiasm and then Char and I are forced to shake hands. He kind of smirks at me, as if to say "You'll be an easy kill." but his hands are just as sweaty as mine, so I know he's afraid, too.

The anthem of Panem, which is now the former anthem of District 13, plays and we face the crowd and cameras once again, but I can't help thinking about how I _will_ be an easy kill. Mother tried to teach me to hunt, but I was no use with a bow. That was Cole's forte. I'm more like Papa, who taught me to bake and to paint and camouflage. I know about plants, though. Edible and poisonous. There's the katniss plant, for which my mother was named for, that would always provide a meal when food was scarce. Then there's a particular story about Nightlock berries that my parents liked to tell, the berries that began the second rebellion and ended the 74th Hunger Games. I suppose I could forage like my mother's ally from District 11 did. She made it further than anyone expected her to. And I'm good with a knife, but close-range weapons are dangerous in the Games.

Still, I did have one advantage Char didn't. Our mentors were _my_ parents and there was no way they're going to let me die.


	2. The Goodbye

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

My bother comes to say goodbye to me in my room at the Justice Building. He's two years younger than me, but still so much taller and muscular in comparison. When he places his hands firmly on my shoulders, however, they're gentle while his voice is more serious than I've ever heard him. "Get a knife," Cole says, boring deep into me with our mother's grey eyes, "that's what you're good with."

"I know."

"And use the camouflage Papa taught us."

"Right."

"And don't eat the nightlock."

"Cole..."

"And don't let Char get to you."

"Cole."

"And win," his voice cracks.

I pull him in for a hug. "I'll try," I promise him, but he's not satisfied.

"You will, sis. You have to."

He hugs me tighter and I allow a few tears to spill onto his best shirt. "Take care of Buttercup Two for me, okay? You know Mother won't." I try to lighten things when he finally lets go of me.

Cole nods. "Will do. I have to go now. Mom and Papa want to see you alone."

My heart sinks into my stomach and I frown. "They'll see me later, though. Why would they come in?" Cole shrugs and when he opens the door to leave, my parents give him a comforting hug before rushing in. My mother embraces me first. She tries not to cry and it results in a painful, choking sound. Papa wraps his strong, baker's arms around the both of us and kisses my forehead.

"Why are you here?" I asked confused. "This isn't goodbye, you're my mentors." They say nothing. "Right?"

Mother lets herself cry now. "Tell her, Peeta."

They let go of me and, with shaky hands, Mother braids my dark hair to look like hers, something she does when she's upset, I've learned. It helps her calm down and stop crying. Meanwhile, Papa takes a deep breath and pins something to the collar of my white reaping dress. It's my mother's mockingjay pin.

I can't stand it anymore. "Please, tell me what's going on! I thought..."

"So did we," Papa whispers, "but Coin, it seems, has other plans for us." His blue eyes, my blue eyes, look at me with a level of seriousness I've only seen once before, the day Coin announced she was reviving the Hunger Games.

A sudden thought occurs to me and I feel sick. "You're not going to be mentors?"

"Oh, we'll still be mentors," he says solemnly, "for District Thirteen." I feel the room spin as the realization sets in. "The Gamemakers," my father continues, "and Coin agree it wouldn't be fair for us to mentor our daughter. And Thirteen's only mentor died earlier this year."

"Then who...?"

"Haymitch," Mother says as she ties off my braid. "Trust him, darling."

I almost laugh at this. "Why would I _not_ trust Haymitch? He got you out of the Games alive. Twice."

Papa brushes a loose hair behind my ear. "What your mother means is to be careful of who you do trust. You are the biggest target out there, I'm afraid, so be careful of who you make alliances with, if you even decide to make alliances. I wouldn't even trust Effie if I were you, though she has changed considerably."

My mother steps in. "You can trust us. You can trust Haymitch." She puts a hand on my shoulder. "No one else, do you understand?"

"Yes." I nod.

Mother smiles a little. "We love you," she speaks softly. "Real or not real?"

At this, I smile, too. "Real or Not Real?" has been a sort of game in our family ever since I can remember. In our family, we value trust and honesty more than anything in the world. It's all we have holding us together while Coin's Capitol pries others apart. So we have to remember what's real: our family values, our love for each other, our loyalty to each other, the horrors of the Hunger Games, things like that. So when my mother asks if her and Papa's love for me is real, I throw myself into their arms and whisper, "Real."

"My brave girl," Mother says.

Papa agrees. "_Smart _girl. She'll outwit them all."

"With Haymitch's help." I add. They're about to say something, but I beat them to it. "I'll make sure he stays sober, don't worry." They accept this, Papa with a soft chuckle.

A Peacekeeper opens the door and informs us our time is up. My parents kiss my cheek but before they leave I have to ask them one more question. "You believe I can do this. Real or not real?"

Mother answers for the both of them. "As an only friend once said to me, 'I'm betting on you.'"

Papa winks and they leave, but I am not comforted by her words. Mother didn't say "not real" but she didn't exactly say "real" either. I'm going to die.


	3. The Announcement

**AN: Thanks to all who have been reading! I love you all!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

It shouldn't surprise me, the certainty of death. It's been in the back of my mind for the last five years. On my twelfth birthday, that's when it was announced, the revival of the Hunger Games.

I can remember the scene perfectly. Papa had made me the most beautiful cake, white frosting with lavender flowers and green vines crawling up the three layers. Papa always went all-out on our birthdays. Sometimes I'd help him with Mother's or Cole's, but mine was always a surprise and never disappointing.

We savored the cake in the sitting room, "we" being my family, Haymitch, and my best friend, Rye. Rye isn't a citizen of District 12, although his mother was. My parents didn't know her very well, but they did know her husband, Doctor Aurelius of District 13, and they moved to District 12 a few years before Rye was born to help my parents after mother's friend, Greasy Sae, died of old age. They had Rye only a year before my parents had me.

Rye got along well with my family, especially my father who always joked about their bread-related names. We went to school together, played together, schemed together, hunted together, and worked together. Worked _well_ together.

Mother handed me my first present, one of my grandfather's carved bows that was protected by its hiding place in the surrounding woods. She thought that maybe if I had a bow of my own I would be motivated to get better with it. I improved a little, but would never be like my mother or Cole.

Papa gave me paints and canvasses, Cole picked out a nice dress at the Hob (rebuilt and surprisingly well-run by Greasy Sae's granddaughter), but it was Haymitch who got me Buttercup Two, much to my mother's dismay. They fought over it for a long time. "Oh, come on. The other one died." "Yes, and good riddance. We will _not_ keep another flea-infested, food-hogging, stupid cat in this house!" (The "food-hogging" comment was a result of all those years of starving. Mother made sure we always had an abundance of food in our storage.) "Katniss, look at her. She loves it, don't you, sweetheart?" And I did love the kitten. I named it Buttercup Two right then and there and Mother had to say yes because, at that age, I reminded her of her sister.

When the cat disaster had passed and everyone went to doing their own thing, washing dishes or, in Haymitch's case, celebrate with a few drinks, Rye asked if I wanted to take a walk. This was normal for us. Usually we'd go down to the Hob for a treat or play ball in the streets, or sometimes we'd just talk. Plan our futures and such. It was all just for fun, of course.

We walked away from Victors' Village and toward the Seam until we were out of the District entirely and in the meadow where Cole and I used to play. "My mother said half of her friends and family are buried here," Rye said solemnly and out of nowhere.

"I know," I replied, "but let's not talk about that today, please?"

Rye smirked. His dark brown eyes reflected moonlight under the dark bangs that just started to grow past his eyebrows. "You're right, I'm sorry. Happy birthday, Phoenix."

"Thank you, Rye," I sang, then lied down and stare at the stars. Rye lied down next to me and I interrupted the sounds of our steady breathing with "You think they can see us? The people buried here. Think they're watching us play and lie on top of them?" 

"Says the girl who didn't want to talk about such things…" Rye laughed.

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Well you put the idea in my mind."

"I guess it's possible."

"I wonder if they're jealous," I said, "that we're living and they're not."

"Everyone dies eventually, Phoenix."

"Yes, but they didn't have a choice. They didn't just _die_, they were killed." The sad reality sunk in and I have to curl up next to Rye to keep me from crying. "Sometimes I hear Mother screaming in the middle of the night and Papa comforts her, saying 'It's all over. It's okay. We won.' or sometimes Papa will grip something hard or break something like he's fighting a demon in his mind and I can't imagine what they've gone though. I hate how my life is so peaceful while theirs was chaotic. It's like I don't deserve it."

Rye holds me tightly. "Just remember your parents went through what they did so that you _could_ live a peaceful life. They want this for you."

"Doesn't change how I feel."

"Well you're stubborn with your feelings."

I sat up and scoffed. "I am not!"

Rye propped himself up on his elbows and smiled. "You are so. You decide you feel one way about something and it very rarely changes."

"Prove it."

"To do that, I'll have to give you your birthday present." He sat up until his nose almost touched mine and raised his eyebrows.

"Fine…wait." I backed away from him slightly. "Is this like last year's present?"

"It is _exactly_ like last year's present," he playfully moves closer. "The one that left you confused, just like it will this year because you're stubborn with your feelings."

"I might feel differently this year."

"But you won't."

"I might."

"Phoenix," he sighed. "I really like you."

"You said that last year," I roll my eyes, "right before y-"

He kissed me, then, and not on the cheek like he did the year before. Rye kissed me right on my lips and it made me jump back. "What the…?"

"You're confused, aren't you?"

"I…" I frowned. "We're just kids!"

He stood up and towered over me. "Speak for yourself! _You're _just a kid. I'm thirteen and I really like you!"

"And I really like you, too!" I stood as well. "You're my best friend, Rye, but we're just kids and right now I'm just..."

"Confused," he finished, but before I could give him my rebuttal, a siren pierced the night with a shrieking hum. I looked at Rye whose eyes were just as big as mine. He grabbed my hand and we ran all the way back to our District were at least a dozen Peacekeepers were ordering people back into their houses to watch a special announcement from President Coin. They pulled Rye away from me and shoved him into the ground. I tried to help him up but my father was already behind me and he carried me back to our house while yelling at Rye to go home straight away.

"What's happening, Papa?" I cried. He set me down in our sitting room where Mother pulled me onto her lap and started braiding my hair.

"It's just a quick announcement," Mother hushed me. "It's alright. It'll be over with soon."

I scanned the room. Apparently Haymitch had gone home, too. "Where's Cole?" I asked.

"He's asleep." Papa turned on our television. "He's only nine, they'll excuse him."

The Capitol seal appeared on the screen and District 13's anthem started playing. I felt Mother's hands tense in my hair. "You can go to bed, too," she said. "You're young. They'll understand." but the program has already started.

President Alma Coin raised her head and gave a menacing smile. Her eyes looked as though they could see through all of us. Papa sat on the sofa next to Mother and me and wrapped his arms around us. I see he was trying to fight those demons again.

"Good evening, Panem," Coin grinned. "Tonight I have a very special announcement for you. As many will recall, after the 76th Hunger Games, which included only children of Snow's Capitol, we agreed to abolish such a form of entertainment once and for all. However, we at this new Capitol feel it is time to reestablish discipline in Panem. As of now, every citizen is to report to the District of the head of household's birth for the Reaping of the 77th Hunger Games."

My mother gasped and my father stood. I suddenly thought of Rye and how he would have to go back to District 13. Coin continued, "The rules are the same as before. One boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen are to be reaped from each of the thirteen Districts and sacrificed to the game as a reminder that no one is to ever stir a rebellion under my command." She said this so sinisterly, I felt goosebumps form up my arms. "The Reaping will take place next week. Happy Hunger Games, Panem, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The seal appeared again and then the screen went black. We simply stared at it in disbelief. All of District 12 was silent for we were all in shock. Then I heard a crash and a scream followed by more shouting against Coin and the Capitol. Then there were gunshots and more screams. My father was shaking and my mother lifted me off her lap. "Go to bed, Phoenix."

"But…"

"_Now_."

I left the room and walked upstairs, but I didn't go to bed. I stayed at the top of the stairs, watching and listening in from the hallway.

"She did this on purpose," Mother said, distantly. "She made us believe we were safe, we were at peace and then she announces this."

"On our daughter's twelfth birthday," Papa added with his hands in tight fists. "She's sick."

"She's Snow."

"She's _worse_ than Snow."

"She deceived us!" My mother started to sob. "I told you!" she shouted at Papa. "I told you I never wanted children for this very reason!"

"Katniss, how could I have known? We all thought she was on our side!"

My mother kicked the wall and left a large dent. "Why is she doing this?" she whimpered.

"Because you're still a threat to her," Haymitch said, standing in the doorway with a bottle of heavy liquor in his hand. Papa ushered him in quickly before the Peacekeepers caught him out of his house and wasted. "And she knows," he continued, "that your children in the Games is your biggest fear and weakness."

Mother sank to the floor. "I let her be president, didn't I? I haven't started any rebellions. I killed Snow."

"Sweetheart, you killed Snow after pointing that arrow at Coin's heart for a good long while, contemplating who knows what."

"I was deciding whether or not we could trust her as our leader! I should have let it fly!"

Haymitch cackled. "Wouldn't that be something? I wonder where we'd be right now if Katniss had killed Coin!"

"Shut up, you two!" Papa yelled suddenly, as if remembering something deathly important. "Remember when Snow was president? How everything was bugged? They're probably listening to us right now!"

"Who cares?" Mother sighed. "She already thinks I'm a threat. She's taking her hate out on our children. What more can she do to us?"

"Execute you right now," Haymitch gulped down another mouthful of liquor, "and, trust me, you don't want that."

"He's right, Katniss," Papa nodded. "Our children aren't dead yet. They aren't reaped. Phoenix's name will be in there only once. There are no tesserae anymore, although it's not like we'd need it."

"But what if the odds aren't in our favor, Peeta?" Mother looked up at him. "One name in a thousand? We all know it's possible."

"Then we mentor her," he knelt down next to her. "We keep her alive."

And that was when it first hit me. I was twelve, I wasn't very good at hunting, and, if I happened to be chosen at the reaping, I could die.

Mother and Papa, after they'd finally managed to get Haymitch back to his house without getting caught by Peacekeepers, found me huddled in the hallway. Papa carried me to my room and Mother sang to me, but it didn't stop the trembling and it didn't prevent the nightmares.


	4. The Recaps

**AN: Thanks again to all who have been reading!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

The Peacekeepers lead me to the train where I am immediately pulled into an Effie-hug. "Oh, Phoenix! Please forgive me, I just reached in and grabbed a name, there were thousands! I never dreamed…I mean, the horrid thought had crossed my mind, but I never wanted…"

"Effie," I slip out of her stranglehold, "it's not your fault."

"Luck of the damn draw," a voice says from behind me.

I turn and let out a relieved sigh. "Haymitch," I whisper and rush to him. He pulls me into his arms and holds me.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your personal feelings private so I can at least pretend her life isn't a priority over mine," Charlton says in a sour tone, sitting grimly in a corner.

"He's right," I say and separate myself from Haymitch.

"It's not even fair," Char grumbles again. "Coin knows about Haymitch's ties to your family. Why didn't she make him leave with your parents?"

Haymitch walks over to where Char sits and gives him a grave look. "Listen, boy, Coin doesn't care about you _or_ Phoenix and you may as well get that into your head right now. These Games are purely about revenge on the mockingjay, on Phoenix's mother. The better the odds of Phoenix winning are, the more painful it will be to her parents if she doesn't. So accept this right here and now, Coin wants Phoenix killed and she's going to do whatever she can to make that happen, no matter who gets in the way." Charlton opens his mouth to say something but Haymitch stops him. "And before you get any ideas, smartass, I give you my word I'll help you with anything you need to the best of my ability, but I'm going to do whatever _I_ can to keep Phoenix alive, no matter who gets in the way. Understand?"

"Fine." Char looks at me. "Stay away from me and I'll stay away from you."

"Fine by me," I say and then storm off into my sleeping compartment. My reflection in the mirror shocks me and I can only hope the cameras were kinder. I peel off my reaping dress and comb my hair out of its braid, then change into the provided silk pajamas and sit on my bed. I feel like a child and I hate it.

Haymitch knocks on my door. "Are you decent?"

"Yes."

He walks in and sits next to me. "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"I know it won't be easy, but you need to find your appetite. I'm not sending you into the area underweight."

"Okay."

He sighs. "Don't shut me out, okay? I can't help you if I can't reach you."

I look up at his old and tired eyes. "I won't, I promise. Just give me this night. I'll be ready by morning."

Haymitch nods and gives my hand a quick squeeze, then leaves the room but not before I ask "Haymitch?"

He pokes his head in. "What?"

"Don't go to your bottle. Please?"

I expect a look of hurt, but, instead, he smirks. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure."

"Contrary to popular belief, I haven't touched the hard stuff since the first reaping you were entered in."

Finally, I smile. "Thank you."

"Your family is my family, sweetheart," he winks and leaves.

I feel slightly better knowing a clean Haymitch will do whatever it takes to keep me alive, Charlton will stay far away from me, and Effie's willing to become my personal slave if that's what it takes for my family to forgive her. I'm being unfair. I do like Effie, she's not as ignorant as she had been under Snow's Capitol (according to Mother), but she can be very emotional.

I decide to watch the reaping recaps on the compartment's TV. A lime green-haired Caesar Flickerman smiles at the camera, looking just as young as he did in the recaps of my parents' Hunger Games, though he had to be over seventy by now. "Good evening, Panem and Happy Hunger Games!" he says with so much youth, so much life still in his voice, but there's something else. There's a sense of fatigue that seeps through when he says, "Welcome to our first broadcast of the Eighty-Second Annual Hunger Games!" The Capitol crowd, though not filled with sadistic enthusiasm, reacts well enough for Caesar to continue (and keep his job under Coin).

Then the recaps begin, starting with, as always, District 1. A twelve year old girl with sleek, jet-black hair is chosen and, after her, a built fifteen year old boy. Despite her young age, she wears a smug, confident smile matched by her fellow tribute. Mother once said the tributes from Districts 1 and 2 were called Careers because they usually train for the Games and volunteer, but those days are long gone. They're still trained by their parents, who are typically past victors, but no one wants to volunteer anymore. No one wants the Hunger Games anymore.

Then the cameras switch to District 2 where, for the first time in years, a brother and sister are reaped into the same Games. The cameras don't show their parents' faces, but, from the fear my own parents have of both Cole and I being reaped, I can only imagine the horror. The siblings shake each others' hands solemnly and part ways.

Finally District 12 appears and I shut my eyes when my name is called. I do not want to see my face on screen. I don't need to watch it, I lived it. Then Caesar says, "My word, Plutarch, is that who I think it is?"

"It is indeed, Caesar," Plutarch Heavensbee, successor to Claudius Templesmith, says. "Phoenix Mellark, age seventeen, daughter of the Hunger Games own star-crossed lovers: Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, or Katniss _Mellark_, really."

"Phoenix, you say? How suiting for the child of the girl on fire!" Caesar claps his hands together with pure delight. "Should we be expecting great things from District Twelve's firebird?"

"No," I mumble.

"I would say so, Caesar. With both of her parents being victors, I don't see how young Phoenix could possibly lose. However, just as a disclaimer before you start placing your bets, we would like to make it clear that President Coin and the Gamemakers have decided Mr. and Mrs. Mellark will _not_ be mentoring for District Twelve, but have been transferred to District Thirteen who have been without a mentor since the Games started back up."

Caesar nods. "That's nice of them. That's fair. Should make the Games more interesting this year, I suspect." They go on to give a brief description of Charlton, and then the focus switches to the reaping at Disctrict 13. First a lovely ginger-haired girl is called up. Eighteen years old by the name of Isabella, but hers isn't the name that stops my heart.

"Rye Aurelius."


	5. The Mockingjay

**AN: I decided it was about time for an update. Thanks again to all who have been reading and reviewing, especially to Laxgirl92 who reminded me it's been forever. :) It really means a lot to read what you have to say.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

"Rye?" I snap and run out of my compartment, desperate for answers, for comfort, anything. Haymitch is still up. As was Char. They look as though they had been discussing the Games before I barged in. "Rye is in this. Did you know?"

"What?" he frowns. "No, I promise you. When did you learn this?"

"Who's Rye?" Charlton yawns.

"The recaps. I just watched the recaps. Rye was reaped."

"Wait," Char grins, "is Rye that one kid?" I shoot him a confused glare. "That one doctor's kid who was all over you? Aurelius, right?"

"He was _not_ 'all over me.'"

Char leans back into his chair and folds his arms. "Perfect."

"What do you mean, 'perfect?'" I sneer.

Haymitch adds, "Yes, speak up, boy."

"Well," Char stands and nonchalantly starts back to his own sleeping compartment, "I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news, but with Rye in the Games, Phoenix doesn't stand a chance."

"What are you talking about? Rye wouldn't hurt me."

"Exactly. I've seen the way he looked at you. Treated you. You may have been children, but, by your sudden worry and emotional outburst…"

"I didn't-!"

"… I'm willing to bet the feelings are still there." He smirks. "That being said, I'm sure Rye would get himself killed before letting you get hurt and, if he dies, well, would you be willing to live with that?" I said nothing. "And there you go." He walks into his room but, just before closing the door behind him, looks back at us and says, "Ironic, isn't it? Daughter of District Twelve's star-crossed lovers, a star-crossed lover herself? It's clichéd. And annoying." Then he disappears.

A cold, sickening sensation returns to my stomach. "Char's right." I say, still in shock. "Absolutely right, Haymitch. I can't go through with this. I'm going to die because I am _not _going to let Rye die. I refuse. Haymitch, I.."

He slaps me. My hand grabs my stinging cheek and my blue eyes stare at him in horror. "Get a hold of yourself, young lady," he hisses, "and don't ever let me hear you say that again."

"But…"

Haymitch raises his hand to me again and I flinch, shutting up immediately. He lowers his hand and starts pacing. "Just like your parents," he sighs, "and that's not a compliment, either. You cannot let your emotions guide you through these Games, understand? They don't work that way. They're built so that any feeling you have will get you killed. You need to be unfeeling, damn it."

"My parents weren't! And they won twice, Haymitch! _Twice_!"

He lowers his voice to a quivering whisper. "Yes, but I didn't promise their parents they would come home alive! I didn't _promise_, Phoenix." Haymitch sits in one of the chairs, buries his face in his hands. "I promised your parents." He rubs his temples. Are his eyes watering up? "I promised I would do whatever it takes, and I won't let you jeopardize that with stupid feelings for a stupid boy you haven't seen in forever." He looks up. Yes, his eyes are glossy. There's a tear escaping down one cheek. "Promise me," he says. "_You_ promise _me_ that you will get out of there alive."

My heart melts at his caring tone of voice. Haymitch was the closest I'd ever get to a grandfather, since both of my actual grandfathers had died so long ago. I shake my head slowly. "I can't make that promise, you know that. There's no telling what might happen. I could die the first day."

"Stop," he shuts his eyes, "saying that. This is your problem," he now glares at me. "You have absolutely no confidence. Alright, yes. You're terrible at archery. So is your father. He won. You're terrible at hiding your feelings no matter what you may say or think. So is your mother. She won. Stop looking at what you can't do and look at what you can. This boy isn't your weakness, you are and you alone. This boy may even be your strength. If he dies early, you have to win for him. And if he makes it through the first day, you must live long enough to help him to the end, yes? Whereupon…" he looks away, "whatever happens, happens. But promise me, Phoenix," he sighs, "that whatever decision you make is the reasonable one because…"

I furrow my eyebrows. "Because?"

"There's something we haven't told you. Your parents and me, I mean. And Effie, sort of."

I kneel next to his chair and make him face me. "What?"

"Well, we were hoping you'd figure it out yourself. But you're the new mockingjay, now."

My jaw drops open. "_What_?"

"You're the daughter of the two most famous victors to ever compete in The Hunger Games. If you win, all of Panem will follow you. We can take down Coin and start the next and final rebellion."

"Haymitch! I can't…"

"You _can_. Stop saying you can't, Phoenix, because the more you say it, the more you believe it, and the more you never will."

"But…"

"And that's all I'm saying on this matter." He stands and walks away from me. "Oh, something else I forgot to tell you," he adds before leaving for his own compartment.

"What?"

"Due to lack of resources and the fact that Coin's too lazy to renovate anything, District 12 has been sharing everything with District 13. That includes living quarters up at the Capitol."

My heart sinks again. "So… I'll be sharing…?"

"The top floor of the training center with Rye and your parents, yes. Get some sleep, Mockingjay."

**AN: Funny side note, when I finished this, I almost uploaded it and then I realized I'd written mockingbird instead of mockingjay. Le sigh. xD**


	6. The Arrival

**AN: Once again, thanks to everyone who reviews and reads and just hangs in there! Everyone has been so great. I'm going to give you a heads up, I've started my senior year of high school, so I apologize if there are long periods of nothingness. Hope you enjoy as always and keep the lovely reviews coming. You all are too much. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

Grey light is leaking through the curtains when Effie wakes me. "Time to go, Phoenix." I hear through the door. She tries to sound as light and encouraging as possible. "It's going to be a big, big, big day." The inflection of her voice is dying. Sad. My parents always described her as having an annoyingly preppy voice you never wanted to hear first thing in the morning. Times change.

I take a warm shower and slip into a flowing lavender dress. Just before I walk out of my compartment, I remember the mockingjay pin still stuck to my reaping dress. I sit on the ground, unfastening the pin carefully and holding it solemnly in my hand. I am the daughter of the mockingjay. No, I am the new mockingjay. Something doesn't feel right about that at all. It isn't that I don't want to help the next rebellion. It isn't that I don't want to inspire Panem. It's that my mother was the mockingjay and I am not my mother.

Nevertheless, I pin the gold mockingjay over my heart and enter the dining car where Haymitch, Char, and Effie eat quietly. Haymitch pats a chair next to him where I sit and am suddenly served more food than I can handle. "I gave you last night," he says sternly. "Now eat." I suspect he's still upset with me from my lack of confidence.

My parents being victors and my father being a baker, food was never a rare treat in my home. A lot of what is on my plate, I've tasted before. Perhaps only once, but I've tried it. I gulp down my orange juice. Like my mother, I dislike coffee so I opt for the hot chocolate instead. I eat the fried potatoes, the ham, the rolls. I force a couple of spoonfuls of eggs down but still prefer Papa's scrambled eggs to any fine chef's.

I've got to stop that. This is my problem, I'm spoiled. My parents were reaped starved and skilled at getting what they needed. Everything's always been provided for me. I'm not a mockingjay, I'm a stuffed turkey. I've been fattened up by luxuries all my life only to be killed and eaten when the time is right.

Charlton, on the other hand, eats like he'll never see food again. He's worked for food. There's not much fat on him, but plenty of muscle. He could break my arm in a heartbeat, much less my neck. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating. There goes my confidence issue again. Char doesn't say anything, though. Haymitch is too protective of me to help him, or they talk every time I'm not in the room. It really isn't fair.

The train finally begins to slow and suddenly bright light floods the compartment. Both Char and I look out the window to see what we've only seen on television, the Capitol. Even after its brutal attack years ago, the Capitol is glorious and fully refurbished. Capitol citizens, however, have changed considerably. They still have outrageous hairstyles, yes. Their makeup is still very dramatic, the clothes still modern and vividly colored, but the people themselves, their expressions when we pull into the station, they are not excited. They're afraid for us.

Peacekeepers lead us through the crowd. They applaud, but it's because they admire our sacrifice. Ever since the Capitol children were forced to have their own Hunger Games, these citizens saw everything differently. They felt our pain. Now it is no more a joke to them as it has been to us.

An older Capitol man with metallic gold hair braided back and tied by a ribbon manages to squeeze past peacekeepers and grab my shoulder. Not harassingly, but comfortingly. "Rise," he says before Peacekeepers push him away.

**AN: I apologize, I know that was short, but I wanted to get something out to you tonight and I decided I wanted the stylists and opening ceremony to have their own chapter. Or chapters. I haven't decided that either. Working on it.**


	7. The Stylist

**AN: Check it out, another chapter in less than 24 hours! Aren't you proud of me? :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

Enok, one of my stylist's two crew members with electric yellow hair, is tearing away at all the hair on my body, while Latvia plucks my eyebrows. No one taught me these things back in District 12. My mother certainly didn't know how to shave or apply makeup, nor did she care. Her stylist crew had always done it for her. Papa taught me how to shave once. I'd shave my underarms for the clothes that called for it, but that was all, and it probably wasn't a good job.

After all hair is removed and the tingling subsides, Latvia scans me with her enhanced orange eyes. She looks to Enok, who also looks my naked body up and down. "Wow," he says breathlessly.

"My thoughts, exactly," Latvia replies. I fold my arms over my breasts. "Wait 'til Jameson sees." This was the most I've heard them say in our whole time in the Remake Center.

Enok and Latvia leave and I wait anxiously. I feel exposed. Actually, no. I _am_ exposed and I don't like it. My robe sits next to me. Should I? What did Haymitch tell me before we were separated? Don't resist? Ha. I cover myself up in my robe just as my stylist, a tall, fit man with pink eyes and jet black hair with tints of blue, walks in.

"Take it off," he says the minute he sees me. I do as he says but only because I'm terrified. "I'm Jameson. Stand and spin for me." I do. When he motions for me to stop spinning, I study his expression but can't quite make it out. Then he smiles at me. "Excuse my being frank, but have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror? Without clothes on, I mean?"

"Yes…" I frown. "Yes, of course I have."

Jameson's skeptical. "Ever _really_ look at yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's your weapon, Phoenix?"

"I'm good with a knife."

"But not great?"

"No."

He winces. "Well that won't help you much. Can't shoot a bow?"

"I'm not my mother," I say, getting really tired of being reminded of that.

Jameson smirks. "No, you really aren't." He takes my hand and makes me stand in front of a full-body mirror. "Take a good, long look. Describe what you see."

"Uh," I take a deep breath. It's the first time ever seeing myself this clean and shaven. "Pale skin. Blue eyes. Wavy black hair."

"Stop." Jameson holds his hand up. "You know what I see? I see the perfect hourglass figure. I see alluring breasts. I see so much sex appeal, so much potential. Full lips. Striking blue eyes. Heart-shaped face. Long, silky dark hair. You see what your parents gave you. I see you, and you, my dear, have been reaped into these Games at seventeen, well-developed, and with one of the greatest weapons you could have."

I raise a plucked eyebrow at him. "What is that?"

"Your body," he helps me put my robe back on, "if, of course, you can learn how to use that to your advantage. Starting by flaunting it." Jameson lifts the lavender dress I was wearing earlier by the tips of his thumb and pointer finger as if it were a disgusting rag. "No more innocent, school girl dresses." He pulls off my pin and then tosses the dress down a chute. "You're not innocent, you're dangerous. Look confident and you will feel confident." I open my mouth to speak but he stops me. "Yes, I've been talking to your mentor."

I don't know what to make of Jameson yet. I don't dislike him, but I don't quite like him either. At least he isn't annoying, just forceful, but maybe that's what I need.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asks me quietly.

"Sure."

"Don't take this offensively, but I always hoped you would be reaped one day."

I frown, folding my arms over my chest which he corrects by readjusting my posture so that my hands are on my hips and my shoulders and back are straight. "Stop hiding yourself," he instructs. "You look weak when you hide. Make yourself believe you are powerful and they will believe it, too." I glare up at him. "Perfect," he chuckles. "Now pout that fluffy lower lip."

"Why did you want me in these Games?" I ask, ignoring his quip.

"So I could meet you," he says simply while sitting me down in a chair and finger-combing through my hair. I cannot deny how wonderful it feels. He continues, "So I could truly show off my talent as a stylist. Try something more than the coals-on-fire routine."

He was talking about my parents' memorable entrances in the 74th and 75th Hunger Games. Prior to Cinna and Portia, their stylists, District 12 always had some sort of coal miner outfit. After them, stylists always had the tributes "on fire" in some way. One year, it went all bad. The stylists made a mistake and their tributes were almost roasted alive. Lost most of their hair, though.

"Please, don't take it the wrong way," Jameson massages my neck and shoulders. I feel myself loosen up considerably. "I admire you greatly. And if we're to start another rebellion, who better to stir the hearts of Panem than you?"

"Because I'm the daughter of the mockingjay?"

"Well yes, but you're also the daughter of the girl on fire." 

"And?"

"And what bird is born from the ashes of a fire?"

For the first time, I manage a smile. "A phoenix."

Jameson smiles, too. "Which leads me to your opening ceremony outfit…"

**AN: Ta-da! I'm in a fantastic mood today, let me tell you. And I'm really excited for the next chapter, but you'll just have to wait.**


	8. The Opening Ceremony

**AN: To all my reviewers, really. You all are making my day. Thank you so much. :)**

**This was probably one of the hardest chapters yet for me because I really wanted to make this as unique and original as possible. Hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

"_What_?" I stare at Charlton in horror. We're prepping together so that our stylists can explain what they want from us and we can see how… _unique_ our entrance will be, and Char is just about naked if it weren't for the black nylon serving as a cover for his groin and bottom. Every other inch of his skin is bathed in coal dust – which has been done before, but to both tributes – and yet somehow Calpurnia, Char's stylist, still managed to add makeup to his face, highlighting his features: his piercing grey eyes and chiseled cheekbones. She wants the crowd to see how built he is, how strong, and Jameson wants him carrying me on his shoulder, which is why I'm so terror-struck right now.

Jameson calmly lifts my chin up so that the book doesn't fall off my head – he's been having me work on my balance and posture all afternoon – and then continues lining my eyes with black and blood red. "District Twelve," he says, "has developed this subtle reputation of being the district to set standards. Try new things. Two tributes wearing two different costumes and not standing side by side is definitely something new. The crowd will love it."

"Afraid your boyfriend will be jealous?" Char sneers while Calpurnia powders more shiny black coal dust onto his stomach, then uses a lighter color to highlight the crevices of his sculpted abdominal…

"Boyfriend?" Jameson raises an eyebrow at me, accusingly.

I glare at Char. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Who's he?" Jameson asks.

"No one important."

"District Thirteen," Char answers.

Jameson nods slowly. "Interesting. Might be able to work with that later. Part your lips, darling." He applies the same shade of red to my lips, making them look plump and thirsty for blood, then removes my book and pulls my straightened hair back into an extremely tight and high ponytail so that it swings freely. There will be no more Everdeen Braid for me (that's what it's called now).

As for my outfit, Jameson has managed to duplicate Cinna's mockingjay/wedding dress for my mother in her Quarter Quell interview, the interview that was never aired but those who were there tell the story all the time. How the fire burned away her dress to reveal a mockingjay. How Papa told the world about my older brother. Or sister. Didn't matter because he or she was made up. The dress I wear now has some alterations, however.

It's short, for one, hitting mid thigh, and it's tight. Form-fittingly tight. My body never felt so suffocated in my life, and I half expect myself to be soaked in my own sweat, but the fabric is cool. Airy. I'm as light as the feather patterns that fall down my long, sheer sleeves. They're the only pieces of fabric not clinging desperately to my skin, but fall from my wrist and touch the floor, like red wings. Yes, that was another change. It isn't a wedding gown, after all. The color of my dress is a bright, fiery red with swirls of gold, burnt orange, and pale yellow, making intricate designs to resembles those of a phoenix's plume. That's Jameson and Calpurnia's ultimate idea. Our costumes aren't going to resemble our district so much, but rather are based off our names. That's why Char appears charred and I'm a powerful fire-bird born from the ashes that cover Char.

"But," I ask, still worried, "last time tributes were covered in nothing but coal dust, no one liked it."

"Those tributes weren't holding a phoenix on their shoulders," Jameson winks.

"But won't it be unfair for Char?" I protest still. "He's so hidden and I'm so… out there. I don't want to steal all the attention. He'll be stuck in my shadow. He literally _looks_ like my shadow."

"Oh, come _off_ it, Phoenix," Char rolls his eyes. "At least _pretend_ you're prepared to kill me. It's easier to accept than listen to you try to touch people's hearts with your so-called 'purity.'"

I shoot him a glare. "Excuse me, then, for trying to add some justice to a world that is seriously lacking it."

"That's not what you're doing," he bites back. "You think that because you're Katniss and Peeta's daughter, you've got it made. You're trying to make it look like you're giving me a chance, evening things out for me, but I don't need your help. There's more to winning the Games than looking sexy in a dress and being born with fame."

Calpurnia steps in before I do anything that might damage our appearances. "Char is going for the strong and silent demeanor," she explains. "A quiet threat. Mysterious. An enigma, which is often more frightening than someone who is very open about his or her strengths."

"There," Jameson interrupts, leading me away from them and to another full-body mirror. I must say, I cannot help but to admire myself. The red silk leaves none of my curves to the imagination and, for the first time, I see what Jameson had been talking about. Beneath my "innocent, school girl dresses" hid an hourglass figure, a woman's body, and, at seventeen, I am practically a woman.

The makeup he used certainly makes me look much older. Red highlights the black that lines my eyes and wings upward, shadows under my cheekbones for definition, and every inch of skin showing has been powdered to an even pale white. He's highlighted my hair with streaks of red and gold and, swinging with the hair in my ponytail are subtle red feathers. My fingernails are painted a soft yellow with flecks of gold. My legs and feet are kept bare. Simple. Smooth.

"Final touch," Jameson smiles and places a small, golden tiara bejeweled with rubies on top of my head. "You own these Games, firebird," he says quietly so that only I can hear. "Get out there and show the world that there's room for only one queen and she isn't Coin."

I decide I like Jameson well enough. Since I'm too afraid to hug him and ruin his hard work, I give his hand a squeeze. "Thank you," I whisper.

He holds up a finger, "Don't thank me yet. Spread your wings for me." I do. "Now close your eyes, hold your breath." As soon as I obey, something odorless is sprayed all over me, my face, my hair, my clothes. Everything until I'm under a thick coat of something sticky and then the stickiness subsides and it's as if nothing had happened at all.

"What was that?"

"Repellent. We don't want coal dust on your dress, now do we?"

Which would make sense, except now Calpurnia sprays it on Char, too. I frown. "Well, why spray that on Char, then? He's got no dress; he's got no _clothes _to worry about."

"Well," Jameson smirks, "we also don't want the fire to burn your skin."

"I thought you didn't want to do the tributes-on-fire thing."

"I'm not doing tributes-on-fire, just tribute. Just you. Can't have a firebird without fire, can you?"

My dramatized eyes widen, "You're using real fire?" thinking of the tributes who'd lost almost all their hair.

Jameson massages my neck and shoulders again, something that's become a bit of a weakness for me. "You can trust me. It's perfectly safe, and the flames will be contained to your sleeves. Just spread your wings, firebird."

"And flaunt," I add with a sly smile. This has become my strategy. Look confident. Flirt and flaunt my way into getting what I need. Have the people love me but fear me, and then go solo in the actual arena. I can survival well enough on my own as long as I don't run into any tributes looking for blood. I just need the favor of the sponsors to help with any survival needs. And, luckily, Jameson and I discovered I have my father's charisma.

"Good girl," Jameson lightly touches his lips to my forehead, then looks over at Calpurnia and Char. "About ready?"

Calpurnia nods. "We'll meet you out there."

Jameson walks me out to the chariots where some tributes are gather and waiting patiently. I see District 4 all set up in their normal, fishing-themed outfits. This year, they're clothed in wraps of seaweed, it looks like. Their stylists even went as far as temporarily dyeing their skin a light, ocean blue and sprinkling salt crystals into their hair. They look at me, terrified. I give them the same sly smile I gave Jameson not five minutes ago. The tributes quickly look away and go back to talking with their stylists. This pretending to be fearless thing is fun.

Two by two, more tributes enter our holding area. The black haired, twelve-year-old girl from District 1 wears a dress made of a hundred little mirrors, reflecting everything and blinding people as she walks past. The male tribute wears a suit with the same effect. They hold their heads up high, but I catch their eyes flickering to me once.

Finally, Char and Calpurnia join us and the whispers between other districts intensify. "They look completely different," I hear the boy from District 8 say. "Are they allowed to do that?" says the girl from District 10. Char and I look at each other and, for perhaps our first time ever, laugh together.

The trained horses line themselves up with their chariots and everyone slowly migrates towards them. Char and I head to the second to last one, but don't get on yet since Jameson and Calpurnia don't want anyone to see what we're doing until the very last moment possible. All the other tributes, however, step onto their chariot and wait for the ceremony to begin, which is strange because I feel like it should have begun by now. I turn around and see the cause of the delay. District 13 is late.

Their stylists come rushing out of their prep room, followed closely by the poised, girl tribute, Isabella. Her ginger hair twisted and tied in elegant knots all over her head, wearing a skintight, electric yellow suit, meant to represent hazmat suit because District 13 is nuclear. It glows, too. The suit and her makeup. It's as if she, herself, is radioactive. If Jameson isn't careful, 13 could outshine 12 easily with their ideas. Not to mention how much a stylist could do with a nuclear district.

Behind Isabella, and I have to hold my breath for this moment because I don't want to risk anyone catching me gasp or something, comes Rye. I have to dart my eyes away from him immediately, but I did get a long enough glance. He's so much taller now, and stronger. Older. If it weren't for those same dark brown bangs falling into his eyes, I couldn't possibly think of him as the boy who kissed me on my twelfth birthday. He wears the same skintight, glowing hazmat suit and makeup, but the glowing works better for him than it does for Isabella. She blends in to the glow, but it makes Rye's brown eyes, hair, and olive skin pop in an overall highly attractive way.

"Phoenix!" Char shouts impatiently. I snap back to attention and, with the help of Jameson, Char lifts me off the ground as if I bear no weight at all. I'm set onto his right, stocky shoulder, crossing one leg over the other, pointing my toes, working with what little room I have until I feel like I'm properly balanced. Char wraps his coal dusted arm around my legs securely and holds onto the chariot with his left hand for support. A few more adjustments to my wings and my dress and Jameson feels I'm ready for the fire. _Spread your wings, firebird._

I hold my arms out, glance over my shoulder for a quick peek at Rye. He's staring right back at me with an unreadable look. I turn back to the front just as a tingling sensation pricks through my sleeves. A heatless, painless fire dances from my shoulder down to my wrists and down the wings. Char, though clearly exposed to the flame, doesn't seem to burn, nor do my hands or neck or hair, so the repellent must be working.

The great doors open and District 1 moves out. Then we all start moving. The crowd cheers enthusiastically for everyone, whether they approve of the Games nowadays or not. They still want to honor our sacrifice and they still sponsor, which is the important part.

Jameson gives me one last wink and I'm out the door, head held high wearing the brightest of smiles. Capitol citizens stand up at mine and Char's entrance. They are enthralled by our performance. I flap my wings, partially for them, partially for the fun of it. Up on Char's shoulder, moving fast with our team of horses, I truly feel as if I'm flying. I see us now in the giant screens. The fire continues to shine down my wings. It even looks as if I have fire in the palms of my hands, making me feel even more powerful. Even the point of my tiara is topped with a single flame. I control the fire. I own these Games. We are as spectacular as the riches in the Capitol itself. He is the ashes and I am my phoenix and the crowd looks at the two of us with the same amount of awe. Char keeps his face stoic, playing strong and silent to its fullest capability, while I wave and smile and giggle in my newly taught posture, not even thinking about how tired my arms are getting. Then the screen switches to District 13 and my smile is wiped away.

Rye and Isabella have their arms around each other's waist. They, too, wave at the crowd and then she kisses his ear flirtatiously and smiles a literally glowing smile. Rye nods to her and smirks, then looks straight ahead with that unreadable look again. The camera is focused back on Char and me again and I have to switch from burning with jealousy to controlling the fire again before anyone, especially Rye, can interpret my expression on the screen. I smile and blow a gracious kiss to a young boy who threw me a flower. This seems to have made his day.

Finally, we curve into the loop of the City Circle and all the tributes' eyes are on us. It seems 12 outshone 13 after all with our signature style: daringness. In fact, I dare to lower one of my wings far enough to squeeze the arm Char's holding me with reassuringly, to tell him _We did it._ He subtly squeezes my leg back to say _I know._ I don't dare to look for Rye's reaction to this. I simply raise my arm up into the air again and watch President Alma Coin bore her haunting grey eyes into me from her balcony.

She gains the crowd's attention by raising her own arms, mocking my current stance, then lowers them and speaks in her icy voice. "Welcome, tributes, to the Eighty-Second Annual Hunger Games. I believe this year will be our most eventful yet." She stares directly at me when she says this. "There are sure to be… many surprises to come. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." She looks through me, now. Intimidated by my crown, my control, my power, whatever. Her body language to me is quite clear. She is telling me _Except you, Phoenix. May the odds be entirely out of your favor. Only _I _can own these games. There is only room for one queen and she isn't you._

**AN: Done and just in time for the DVD/Blu-ray release! (I went at midnight and got myself some free cake and trading cards. Interesting experience. But I've already watched the movie three times. xD) Anyway, please let me know what you think! I hope it's written to everybody's satisfaction.**

_**[Edit: So, for some reason (exhaustion), last night I had the twelve-year-old girl with the mirror dress from District 12. Lols. She's from District 1. Anyway, I fixed that.]**_


	9. The Reunion

**AN: Okay, so answer honestly. How many times did you watch **_**The Hunger Games**_** the weekend the DVD/Blu-ray was released? I definitely watched it 4 times in 2 days. Can you blame me? Anyway, my **_**Hunger Games**_** hype is nearly over and my new classes are taking their toll, but I'll keep updating when I can. Thanks again for all your loverly reviews. (I really would love to publish this somehow as a sequel, it's just… it's not exactly a sequel now, is it? Thanks though!)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

The doors of the Training Center close behind us and Jameson quickly douses my flames. "That was spectacular," he stresses every syllable.

"Thank you," I reply breathlessly.

Char lowers me to my feet and, surprisingly, holds me steady until I gain my balance. "Alright?" he asks with a tightened jaw. I realize that somewhere under that black layer of dust and behind the muscles, there's a hint at a heart in him. I nod and he lets go of me, then we both jump off the chariot and it rides away.

Haymitch walks up to us with his signature smirk. "Fantastic," he applauds. "That startled them for sure."

"_Startled_? That pissed Coin off," I whisper. "Did you see the way she looked at us?" I lower my voice even more so that Char can't hear me. "At me?"

"Phoenix!" someone shouts my name, and I recognize her voice all too well.

"Mother?!"

I search the crowds of tributes and stylists and mentors in the direction of her voice. Then my eyes find hers and we run for each other. My mother catches me in her arms and holds me tightly, then Papa's strong arms wrap around the both of us. Mother is crying. Papa kisses the top of my head. In reality, we'd only said goodbye to each other yesterday, but fear slows time considerably and last night alone felt like an eternity.

"You looked so beautiful," Mother pulls away from our embrace to look at me.

"Put your first entrance to shame," Haymitch jokes and Mother goes to embrace him to.

Papa holds my hand. "You alright, sweetheart?" he asks me.

"Yes," I force that same fake smile I used on the Capitol and it fools Papa just like it did them. Secretly, I'm still shook up by Coin's eyes on me, but only Haymitch can know that.

Jameson shakes my parents' hands. "It's truly an honor to meet the two of you. My name is Jameson, I'm Phoenix's stylist."

My mother smiles. "So you're the one who redesigned Cinna's wedding dress."

"I made a few changes here and there," Jameson chuckles. "I could never truly invent the styles and dreams Cinna was able to, I can only take ideas from what I already know. Cinna was, indeed, an artist in a million."

This makes mother like him. She'll like anyone who appreciates her ever-loyal confident in the Hunger Games. "Well I congratulate you. That dress looks a thousand times better on my daughter than it did on me."

"Now that's not true," Effie suddenly chimes in. "Oh!" her voice cracks like she's on the verge of tears. "You both looked so beautiful." Haymitch pats her shoulder like she's a pitiful creature.

District 13's stylists and tributes make their way over to our crowd since we're all sharing the same penthouse. Isabella is already shaking all the knots out of her hair while Rye keeps his eyes to the ground. There's a strange sort of tension in our small camaraderie. The only people who aren't aware of mine and Rye's past relationship are 13's stylists, escort, Isabella, and our stylists to an extent.

Isabella breaks the awkward silence. "Can we go up now? Frankly, I'm _exhausted_."

"Yes," Effie claps her hands together, relentlessly trying to keep up the morale. "Shall we?"

We all migrate to the elevators. It's decided we'll go up on district at a time to avoid more awkward confrontation, not that it helps much because everyone is reunited in our penthouse. What was a short minute compared to the next several days?

When we get inside our penthouse, we are suddenly hit by freezing cold air. I wish I had my flames back.

"Now who turned off that heater?" Lola, District 13's escort, huffs. She and Effie quickly run off to scold our Avoxes for their carelessness. My mother and Jameson are continuing their conversation on Cinna. Calpurnia heads off to bed with 13's stylists and our prep teams. Papa begins talking to Haymitch and all the tributes are left standing in a square silently.

Once again, however, Isabella breaks the ice. "That was quite an entrance," she says to Char, not acknowledging me. Her green eyes scan Char's body greedily. He grunts a thanks then retreats to shower off his coal dust and get some rest. I find myself angry at him for leaving me alone with Isabella and Rye, who still won't look at me.

Isabella swishes her hair behind her shoulder. "Must be nice," she says to me, "having your parents here to take care of you."

I narrow my eyes. Two can play at this game. "Yes, I suppose you're right," I chuckle back. "If any tribute comes after me, they send one of the many bombs they've already purchased down in a seemingly harmless silver parachute."

She glares at me. "They can't do that. They're mentors. It's against the rules."

Rye finally speaks. "They're her _parents_, Isabella. I doubt they'll be afraid to break the rules if it's to save their daughter's life." 

It's my first time hearing his voice since he was thirteen and it makes my heart pound a few beats faster. His voice is deeper, more mature, but still warm and inviting. I wish we were back in our meadow, singing "The Hanging Tree" together, except now our voices wouldn't match pitch. His would be lower. We could harmonize if we wanted to.

"Well," Isabella snaps me back to attention, "let's just hope they don't make things worse for you or themselves. Come on, Rye. I'm tired."

"And?" Rye looks up at her, shrugging. "You don't need me to tuck you in, do you?"

"No, but I'd like you to," she winks. I think I'm going to be sick.

Rye rolls his eyes. "Goodnight, Isabella."

She pouts, "Fine then. Sweet dreams." then looks me over one last time, "You too, honey."

"Sorry," Rye says as soon as Isabella's left. "She's…" he shakes his head.

"She's something else," I finish for him.

"Yeah," he snorts and runs his fingers through his still semi-glowing hair. "Yeah, basically." Then he finally looks up at me and I see straight into his brown eyes. "How are you doing?"

_Confidence. Confidence._ "I'm great," I say, shrugging it all off like we're just going to be playing a harmless game of tag. "I mean, as great as it gets."

He gives me a skeptical look. "Okay." Another pause. "Well, you look…" he holds his hand out, indicating my ensemble.

I raise an eyebrow, "Great?"

He chuckles. "That works."

"Everyone else thinks I look beautiful." I place my hands on my hips flirtatiously.

"Well," Rye's face goes emotionless again, "yeah."

This takes me back. Should I continue the charade while I'm in my penthouse? Around Rye? My parents? I guess that's a con to sharing a floor with another district. I have to always be on my guard. Always act like someone else.

Luckily, Effie steps in with two glasses of wine. "Here we are. I would like to propose a toast," she announces to everyone still left in the room. Effie hands Rye and me our glasses then takes her own and raises it. "To this lovely reunion of family and family friends."

Everyone is silent, perhaps shocked by Effie's ignorance or touched by her remembrance. It is a bittersweet moment. Papa looks down into his drink and murmurs, "If only reunited in a different place, at a better time." Mother leans her head on his shoulder comfortingly.

I feel like all the air has been sucked out of the room. With the exception of Lola and Jameson, it may as well be my twelfth birthday again (note that Effie came too, but left before dinner). Everyone sips their wine solemnly, but I can't stomach it.

Rye watches me carefully. "Phoenix?" he whispers soft enough for only me to hear.

"I'm fine," I force a smile. _Confidence_. Rye gives me that skeptical look again. "Really," I reiterate.

"Go to bed, Phoenix." He takes my untouched glass. "Now, while they're not paying attention to you sneaking out."

I nod, backing away from the "reunion of family and family friends," and locate my bedroom. With two districts sharing one floor, I wonder how everyone is going to fit. I suppose Effie and Lola will share a room. The stylists and prep teams have their own quarters elsewhere in the Training Center. My parents will share a room, obviously, and Haymitch would be perfectly content with sleeping on the sofa. Coin didn't renovate much of the Training Center, it's true, but she did have the foresight to give each tribute his or her own bedroom. Most likely to avoid conflict or, worse, friendships, which is all perfectly fine with me. I couldn't imagine having to share a room with Char, or, worse, Isabella – which is to assume we'd either be sharing by district or gender.

Nevertheless, I am by myself. I kick off my opening ceremony dress and pluck the feathers out of my ponytail. An Avox girl is close behind me, picking up everything I drop onto the floor. A twinge of guilt hits me and I bend down to help pick up the feathers. She shakes her head fervently, begging me not to help. I stand and she continues to help me undress. She even takes a comb through my straight, red and gold highlighted hair. It falls out of its ponytail and down my back. Next the Avox starts up the shower and leads me inside.

The moment I step in, I jump back out. The water is ice cold, just like the penthouse when we first entered. The Avox insists I step inside but I shout at her. "It's freezing!" Her eyes lower to the ground and she adjusts the temperature, embarrassed. Within seconds, the water is a comfortable warm. I thank her, assured it wasn't her fault, and she leaves with a heavy, disappointed sigh.

The water runs down my face, sending red and black tinted water down the drain. I kiss the back of my hand, leaving a blood red imprint of my lips, and then quickly rub it off. The highlights of gold wash out of my hair, but the red stays. I guess Jameson wants the audience to always be able to identify me as me, and not as my mother.

Eventually, I feel clean enough to go to bed. As soon as I leave my steamy bathroom, however, annoyingly enough, the air in my bedroom is freezing. I wrap my wet hair and ears in my towel, then bury myself under the covers of my bed. Either Coin hates me so much, she assigned the most sadistic of Avoxes to my penthouse, or someone was trying to tell me something.


	10. The Morning After

**AN: I felt overdue for a chapter, so I just kind of threw this together in my astronomy class tonight. Sorry it's been so long. Recently cast in my school's fall musical, celebrated my 18****th**** birthday. Yeah. Eventful. Anyway, like I said, I threw this together. It's just to hold you over until we get to the training – which I'm working on. It doesn't do much for the overall plot except work on Phoenix's relationship with Rye and make her realize a few new things. Oh, and the medicine's important. You'll see. Hope you enjoy it just the same.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Hunger Games**_** nor any canon characters. I love Suzanne Collins for what she has given me and would never in my life steal from her.**

Effie isn't the one to wake me up the next morning, it's Mother. She's sitting on the edge of my bed, holding my hand. "Phoenix?" she nudges me.

I turn over in my bed. My head aches with pressure, I can't breathe through my nose. Fantastic. Mother presses her hand to my cheek. "Why are you so cold?" she worries.

Carefully, I sit up and politely push my mother's hand away. "It's just a cold," I mutter. "Going to bed in a cold room with wet hair does that to you."

Mother stands up, highly irritated. "Why is your room so cold? This isn't right!" She exits the room and I hear her start to complain to Papa and Haymitch. "Katniss, calm down…" "Peeta! She's got to fend for her life in the next few days. She doesn't need to be getting sick right now!" "It's just a cold, sweetheart." "It's just a sneeze that'll give her away when she's hiding!" "We'll get her medicine." "She'll be better in no time." "You're overreacting." "Coin's doing this, isn't she?"

Rye walks by my room and looks at me through the doorway. "Room too cold?"

"Word travels fast when my mother's upset, I see," I say sarcastically. "Amazing she doesn't blame my own stupidity for sleeping with wet hair."

"Wait for it," Rye leans against the doorframe, grinning. Sure enough, we hear: "… and why is she sleeping with wet hair, anyway? She knows better." He and I laugh together and, for those few seconds, we're transported back in time, teasing my mother's crazy antics and laughing like our parents were our only real enemy.

"Well," I sniffled, "I guess I'd blame Coin before my own daughter's immune system, too."

Rye rolls his eyes. "You always get sick."

"Only when it's cold," I explain. A new expression washes over his face and he looks at me, worried. "What is it?" I feel self-conscious all of a sudden, pulling my blanket over my shoulders.

Rye walks over and sits on the edge of my bed. "Nothing," he frowns, looking down at his fingers. "Just… what if Coin _is_ sabotaging your room? What if she _does_ want you sick?"

"I really wouldn't doubt it," I cough. "But I'll get better." I reassure him with a smile.

"Oh, I know," Rye nods. "They've got advanced medicine here, you'll be in full health by lunchtime, but…"

"But?"

"You're the biggest target in these games, Phoenix. You know that, right?" he lowers his voice. "So much so that Coin herself is already trying to kill you. All I'm saying is be careful."

Papa walks in at that moment with a glass of orange juice and two white pills. "Take these for the next few days," he instructs me. "They'll prevent you from getting more colds. And we'll find you a new bedroom, somehow. Maybe you can share with Isabella…"

"No," I plead, almost choking on the juice. The pills do have an instant effect on me, however, and my nose clears up. "I can't share a room with her." I stress, not even caring that Rye was listening too.

"Why?" Papa asks. "You'll need allies…"

"I don't want her as my ally."

Rye seems to understand. "She can switch bedrooms with me, Mr. Mellark." This does make me choke on the rest of my orange juice.

Papa gives me a concerned look after I recover. "Thank you, Rye," he replies. "Alright with you, Phoenix?"

"No," I frown. "Rye, don't give up your comfort for me. It's…"

"Shut up, Phoenix," he glares at me.

This sets me back. Even Papa is shocked. Rye looks from my father to me and shrugs. "Well, someone had to say it." he explains.

"What's that suppose to mean?" I finally jump out of bed and stand over him.

"It means you're too good for these Games!" Rye shouts back, standing up to tower over me. "I _knew_ that confidence you had last night was just an act. You're still the same, stubborn-with-your-feelings Phoenix I knew five years ago. Stop. Trying. To make it all. Fair. It isn't fair. It won't be fair. Stop thinking of others. Think of yourself. _That's_ how you win these Games." Then he pushes me aside and runs out of the room.

I look down at my father, realizing the gist of what my friend just said. I am my father's daughter and it will be the death of me if I don't stop it. "Is he right?" I ask, bracing myself for the answer I don't want to hear but have to.

Papa shrugs. "Yes and no. That _is_ how to win the Games but," now he smirks, "that's not how I won it."

I sit beside him. "Because you didn't think of yourself," I answer for him. "You thought of Mother."

"And would have died because of it. You know, if it weren't for the rule change."

"So what should I do?"

He rubs his temples, as if he has a headache coming on. I sense the demons are threatening to plague him again, but Papa is strong. He holds them off. "Ultimately," he responds, "it's all up to you. It all depends on who you want to prove right or wrong. Your mother is against me telling you this, but I believe the right thing to do is to show them they don't own you. Play the Games by your own standards. Just…" he sighs and pulls me into his strong, baker's arms, "stay alive."


End file.
